pride

You say loving me is similar to drowning in chlorine, blurry vision and repressed thoughts in a gagging mouth filled with heartfelt clots. You call me a drug that doesn’t last long enough, insisting your lips are too dry, as if you’re just not tasting enough of me. If I simply hand myself over to all the love you supposedly hide, my eyes will drench less when you leave. Fallible logic for when you keep coming back just to ensure your name is still inscribed into my skin, only looking at me when there’s nothing else you deem so sickly entertaining. The twists you play on average games, how it has to be dark enough in this cold room so you don’t have to admit how our eyes click and latch to one another. Your fingers dripping onto my lace as I force down your other hand, asking for you to simply let me know if her skin is still under your nails, chest on chest but it’s simply not enough to truly tell.

And I just want to yell out what’s the point in asking me to stay when the lights come up and you’re someone I don’t know, blurry vision and mixed emotions answer my repressed set of regretful questions. Building your chest of uneasy pride I suppose I was only here to design in jest, and I don’t know you, I don’t know you, I don’t know you.